Page 53 of Synced to Us

The want for him was sudden and unavoidable. We were pulled over on a deserted road. He smelled of lake water and whiskey. His massive chest heaved with frustrated breaths as he glared at the dashboard and tried to contain the agony from his past from mixing with his rage over his brother’s current actions.

He was a beast I wanted to tame.

Wyn didn’t let me get halfway to a smile before he yanked my lips to his. My arms wrapped around his neck just in time to match the hard, demanding kiss.

Damp strands of my hair spilled onto his shoulders as I fell into his lips, his hands spanning my back, then squeezing my hips, molding me against him.

Our clothes are nothing but wet, sticky barriers. I inch back enough to peel off his shirt, his arms knocking against the car door and ceiling in his rush to get it off. Wyn returns the favor by lifting my shirt at the hem and wiggling me out of it. We both laugh at the wet smacks our clothes make on the passenger seat—we’re like teenagers making out in a car.

When is the last time I’ve done something like this? Never.

Wyn catches my chin and turns my face back to him. His mouth finds mine and our tongues intertwine, licking…competing. He finds my breasts, pulling my lace bra down and tucking it under, exposing my nipples to the cool air.

They’re pebbles in his hands as he flicks, rubs, and bends to suck them. My fingers tangle in his hair, and I arch into the play of his lips. Goosebumps spread across my skin from his hot mouth and cold, lake water touch.

My shorts are damp, but not just from splashing through the lake. I’m wet for him, aching for his fill, and I press myself into him, rubbing his hard-on through his jeans and wishing such dark material wasn’t between us.

I must’ve mewled my disappointment, because he stops his artwork on my breasts and grinds out, “Keep sounding like that, and you’ll be my undoing.”

Wyn’s hands slide down my stomach and unbutton my shorts. The zipper is a paltry barrier to his goal, his fingers dipping in easily, finding me bare and zeroing in on my clit.

Breath squeaks out of my mouth before he catches it with his own. But my hips move of their own accord, following his circles and flicks, and I moan against his lips, claw at his scruff, and relish the burn of his rough skin against mine.

Wyn’s made me desperate, needy, and hot for release. I’ve never felt these kind of—of flashes before. The thought of him never entering me, fucking me, leaves me so hollow and confused that my hands come between us and I search for the button to his pants.

“Dee. Dee, are you—” Wyn sounds horse, his voice tight. I pop the button. “Sure?”

“Yes. God, yes,” I breathe, fixed on releasing him. His zipper’s next.

“But we—I’m huge.”

Oh, boy, I think when I push his boxers down and get to him. Yes, you are.

I trace a path down his shaft. Wyn grunts and this thighs clench into two tree trunks below me when I keep going.

“No, I mean—I mean I’m a big dude in a truck. I don’t know if there’s enough room to fuck you the way I want to.”

I raise my eyes to his. He must see something in them because his pupils grow. “Jesus, Dee. Don’t be the death of me now.”

Squeezing his shaft, the hard heat of him pulses beneath my palms. There’s no way I’m letting him go. In a quick maneuver, I bend to the levers and push back the butt of the seat and crank the seatback all the way down until Wyn’s practically flat under me.

“There,” I whisper, lowering against him again.

“We’re doing this,” he says, but his head falls back in a lust-filled haze as I stroke him.

I’ve given myself enough room to wiggle out of my shorts with his help. Wyn doesn’t contest as I bend one way and then the other, his magnificent cock bobbing between us. At last, my shorts join our clothes pile. I move my thong to the side.

The act has Wyn groaning at the sight, all of me exposed with strips of lace bordering the sexiest parts of my body as I place my knees on either side of him again.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “I always knew you were, but—holy hell. You’re what I try to capture in sound. You’re music.”

My lips twitch at the unexpected compliment. Inside, I’m reeling. No one talks to me like this. I’m not deserving of such rapture. I come from sin.

“Dee?”

I blink out of it. “You’re wrong,” I say. “And I’m going to show you why.”

His brows lower in confusion, but I don’t give him time to wonder, instead moving to what I’m good at. What I’m an expert at.

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